


Standing In The Shadow

by red_starshine



Series: Holidays With Chas & Constantine [5]
Category: Constantine (TV), Hellblazer & Related Fandoms
Genre: Birthday, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Mother's Day, New York City, Presents, References to Drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 20:12:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3909106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_starshine/pseuds/red_starshine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chas, John and Zed take Geraldine to a street fair to help her find a Mother’s Day gift for Renee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Standing In The Shadow

**Author's Note:**

> Here, have some fluff.

“Dad, what do you think?” said Geraldine, holding one of the necklaces from the booth up.

Chas leaned over Geraldine, taking a closer look at the necklace. “Very pretty,” said Chas, watching the sunlight catch the purple faceted stone. “I’m sure Mom would love this.”

It was a little odd for Chas to visit Geraldine the day before Mother’s Day, but Geraldine had wanted to get Renee a gift, and the street fair in the city he’d been planning to take her to had several vendors selling everything from handmade soaps to clothing to antiques. He’d been keeping an eye out for anything John might like for his birthday, which was also tomorrow. John was a difficult mage for shop for.

A gem-studded silver bracelet hanging from a jewelry stand caught Geraldine’s eye. “Hey, what about that?”

John walked back over to Chas and Geraldine from the used book vendor across the street. He’d been browsing through the neat rows of books in hopes of uncovering something truly magical. Unfortunately for John, most of the books being sold were decades-old yellowing paperback novels with bent spines and torn covers. The closest he’d come to an actual magic book was a typewritten booklet bound with rusted staples entitled ‘A Beginner’s Guide To The Dark Arts’, which John had quickly flipped through while laughing uproariously.

“Chas, mate, can we just grab somethin’ and go?” said John, trying to keep his voice low enough for Geraldine to not hear. “I’m sure Renee’d be thrilled with whatever shiny piece of tat Geraldine gets her.”

Chas gave him a look. “Not the point, John. You know, there’s that saying about how it’s the thought that counts?”

“She’s your soon-to-be-ex-wife,” said John with only a touch of bitterness. “You don’t need to think about her that much.”

“Careful, John. You sound a little jealous,” said Chas with a small smirk.

John gave an indignant huff. “Am not.”

Zed chose that moment to reappear with hot salted pretzels and several cups of lemonade in a small cardboard tray. Geraldine dashed towards her, grabbing a pretzel from Zed with a hurried “Thank you!” before darting to another vendor’s stall selling floppy-brimmed sunhats.

Zed glanced between John and Chas, thoughtfully chewing on her pretzel. “Bad time?”

“Not at all,” said John, taking a pretzel from Zed. He took a bite of the pretzel and shuddered, his mouth scrunching up. “Like eating a bloody salt lick,” he muttered, and then took another bite.

Chas rolled his eyes and passed one of the lemonades to John, who made half of it disappear. “Thanks, Zed,” said Chas.

“No problem. Geraldine find anything nice for her mom?”

Chas gave a quiet snort, watching Geraldine flit to the next stall. “Oh, y’know, only most of the stuff for sale.”

“Geraldine’s like a magpie,” said John between bites of his pretzel. “Show her anything shiny and she’s off like a shot.”

“She’s eight,” said Chas with a half-chuckle. “Don’t you remember being eight?”

“Yeah,” said John. He looked away, shoulders hunched. “Wish I didn’t.”

Zed silently ate her pretzel, turned away from John and Chas to keep an eye on Geraldine.

“Renee’s a good mum,” said John finally. “She cares about her daughter. She’s there for her.”

“That’s about the bare minimum for any parent, John,” Chas pointed out.

“As much as I hate to sound like a friggin’ motivational poster, sometimes half of winning is just showing up,” said John. “I mean, look at the three of us. My mum died giving birth to me, your mum was completely mental, and Zed’s mum was arse-deep in a wacko religious cult. Compared to those, the fact that Renee is even halfway competent at raising a kid pretty much makes her Mum Of The Bloody Year by default.”

“I guess I didn’t think about it like that,” admitted Chas.

Geraldine dashed back to Chas, grasping his hand and tugging him in the direction of one of the street  
fair stalls. “Dad, come look at this! I found a great gift for Mom!”

“All right, sweetie.” Chas let himself be dragged to the stall.

Geraldine pointed to a pale green lacquered box perched on top of a plastic crate full of old vinyl records. “Look at that! Isn’t it pretty? ”

Chas picked the box up. The lid had an image of a white flower inlaid in the wood. When he lifted the lid up, the box began to play a cheerful melody he didn’t recognize.

The seller, noticing Chas and Geraldine inspecting the box, sidled up to Chas. His long hair was stringy, and his pale skin nearly glowed white in the sunshine. “Your daughter has good taste,” he said. “That music box was handmade in Switzerland.”

“I’m sure it was,” said Chas dryly. A sinking feeling was starting to open up in his stomach. John’s unreliable magic trick with lottery tickets only netted them so much cash, and he’d be surprised if the seller named him a price less than one hundred dollarsfor the box.

Especially with the way Geraldine was staring up at the music box like it was the most wonderful thing she’d ever seen. That had to be worth at least another fifty dollars to the seller.

“It’s perfect, Dad. Can we get it?” said Geraldine excitedly.

The seller grinned like a shark detecting blood in the water.

Chas sighed inwardly. “How much.”

“Two hundred even.”

Even though he’d been expecting it, it still felt like a kick to the stomach. Chas’s mouth was open to tell the man no thanks when a burst of mocking but familiar laughter behind him silenced him.

“Oh, that is one hell of a markup, squire,” said John, stepping next to Chas.

“Uncle John!” said Geraldine, unaware of the tension between her father and the seller. “Look at this music box. Isn’t it pretty?”

John picked up the wooden music box from Chas’s hand, turning it over and lifting the lid for a moment. “It’s lovely,” he said to Geraldine. He turned back to the seller. “But even so, it’s not worth even half that much.”

The seller scoffed. “And what are you, some kind of expert?”

John snorted. “On music boxes, mate? Jesus, no. But just because you put a sticker on the bottom telling people it was made with love by some old master craftsman in the Swiss Alps don’t make it true.” He smirked.”I have an extensive collection of rare, one-of-a-kind items myself, and I can tell when something is made by hand with care and when something is mass-produced in a factory overseas.”

The seller’s lips curled down into a grimace.

John dug into his wallet and pulled out two twenty-dollar bills. “So how about we cut the bullshit – I give you these,” he held up the twenties, “You let my friend take the music box, and I won’t tell those nice police officers ordering falafel a few booths down about the coke you’ve got tucked away in your stall.”

The seller’s mouth dropped open, a look of abject horror on his face.

Geraldine looked around the items displayed in the booth. “He’s got soda? I don’t see any.”

Chas covered his face with his hand, massaging his temple. “Uncle John means something else, sweetie,” he said, struggling to keep his tone light. Sometimes he wondered about the wisdom of letting John Constantine anywhere near his daughter.

The seller seemed to have worked up a tiny bit of his nerve back. “You don’t know anything. Think you can intimidate me, blondie? Should’ve had your boyfriend punch me first.”

John was silent for a few moments, his face impassive. “So that’s a ‘no’? Well, that’s a shame,” he said, calmly tucking the twenties back into his wallet. He looked up the seller, his eyes dark, almost demonic. “Coke, smack, and speed? You really do have everything here, don’t you?”

That broke him. “Just take the box!” the seller practically yelled, sweat glistening on his pallid forehead. “Take it!”

John grinned as he handed the music box to Geraldine. “There you go, dear.”

Chas could only stare at John as Geraldine gave a short squeal of delight before hugging John tightly. “Thank you, Uncle John! Can we show Zed?”

John’s mouth pulled up into a grin. “Sure thing, love.” He took her hand and guided her back through the crowd to the bench where Zed had pulled out her sketchpad and a piece of charcoal, quickly sketching passers-by.

The seller immediately darted away to the back of the booth, running his fingers through his hair. Despite that he’d only moments ago been trying to rip Chas off, Chas couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for him. John could be downright evil when he wanted to be.

Chas was about to follow John and Geraldine when something in the crate of records caught his eye. He carefully tugged the vinyl record free from the crate. He stared at the cardboard sleeve for a moment before gently pulling out the record itself, still encased in a white paper sleeve. The vinyl was translucent red instead of typical black, but it was free of any scratches or debris and looked to be in unplayed condition.

“Hey, how much for the vinyl?” called Chas, sliding the record back into the cardboard sleeve.

“Take the whole crate if you want, I don’t fucking care,” said the seller from the back, his voice cracking.

Chas shrugged, tucking the record under his arm. “All right, have a nice day.”

The seller gave him the finger and glared at him as Chas walked over to Zed’s bench. Geraldine was seated next to Zed, showing her the pretty music box the man in the booth had given to them for free while John stood nearby, lighting a cigarette.

“Took you long enough,” said John. He noticed the album Chas had under his arm. “What’ve you got there, more loot?”

“I guess so,” said Chas. “I saw this and thought you might like it,” He held the album out to John. “Happy birthday, John.”

John took the record, a bootlegged recording of a 1977 Sex Pistols concert in Copenhagen, staring at the black and white photograph of the band on the cover.

“Mate, this is...this is perfect,” he said , flipping the album over to look at the track listing on the back. “I’ve heard of this bootleg. They only pressed 25 copies of the bloody thing and they’re ungodly hard to find. Never seen a copy for sale anywhere.”

“Oh good. For a second I thought you already had it or something.”

“No, I’ve just been lusting after it for ages and ages,” said John. “It’s the holy grail for Pistols fans.”

“Nice of that guy to just let me take it, huh?”

“Probably didn’t realize what it was really worth,” said John, still staring at the record stunned, like he half-expected it to vanish if he took his eyes off it. He looked up at Chas with that same awe-filled expression. “Chas, this is quite possibly the best birthday present I’ve ever gotten.”

Chas smiled, clapping John on the shoulder. “Just do me a favor and don’t play it for Geraldine, OK?”

John smirked. “Aw, mate, your daughter needs a proper education in punk music. None of this stupid teenybopper bull for Chas’s little girl!”

“She’s supposed to be listening to stupid teenybopper bull," Chas groaned. "Give her a few years before introducing her to the Pistols?”

“Well, since you asked so nice,” said John, slipping the album under his arm. He grasped Chas’s hand tightly, and then pressed a light kiss to Chas’s cheek. “You’re a good man, Chas Chandler.”


End file.
